I am not going to say a word, I will just leave this here...
Karen de la Carriere told these stories to Lawrence Wright while he was researching his book "Going Clear"and wants them told here at Scientolipedia to be part of the history as an example of what she witnessed to be LRH's deep level of caring for others while developing the technologies of Dianetics and Scientology.
Those who were close to him saw a generous and caring leader who used his gigantic personality to keep his ship, his fleet, his organization, and his religion on track. Karen de la Carriere, a young British auditor, remembers watching Hubbard in his office screaming at one of the crew; when that person left, cowering, Hubbard swiveled in his chair and gave Karen a big wink. “He was in total control,” she realized. “It was all theatrical to create a desired effect.”
Hubbard developed many of the basic Scientology techniques aboard the Apollo. In one instance, Karen was having no luck auditing a wealthy Scientologist with a long drug history, who kept falling asleep during their sessions. Hubbard theorized that theLSD he had taken must still be in his system; perhaps the drugs could be sweated out by putting him to work swabbing the decks. After six weeks, he was a changed man. Karen says that was the beginning of the Scientology drug-treatment program, called the Purification Rundown.
A strapping crewman named Bruce Welch had what other crew members diagnosed as a nervous breakdown or a psychotic episode. In Scientology terms, he had gone “PTS Type Three.” He had a crush on one of the ship’s young women, and when he learned she was engaged, he went berserk. Welch got a butcher knife from the pantry and threatened to kill Hubbard and other members of the crew. There were no designated security procedures or personnel trained to handle such a case. It took four crewmen to eventually subdue Welch and wrestle him into a cabin in the forecastle, the storage area above the bow, away from most of the crew, where he screamed continuously. There was a metal bed with a mattress, and a metal cabinet, but Welch managed to tear them apart with his bare hands and shove the pieces through the porthole.
A young Australian named Mike Rinder (who would eventually become the church’s chief spokesperson) had just arrived aboard the Apollo and was given the assignment of guarding Welch’s cabin. He sat on a trunk in the hallway, listening to Welch shouting, “Bring the Commodore here! I want the Commodore right now!” Then Welch would yank on the door, which was locked and lashed to the bulkhead with sturdy ropes. Several times, Rinder recalled, Welch beat up other members of the crew when he was escorted to the bathroom or given his meals.
Hubbard saw Welch’s rampage as an opportunity to experiment with the problem of acute mental breakdown. Total silence was enforced on the forecastle deck so that Welch would have nothing to stimulate him. Three times a day, Hubbard would write Welch a note, asking about his well-being. Welch’s response might be, “You’re the devil incarnate. I’m going to enjoy plunging the knife in you.” Hubbard would respond that he understood, and by the way was there any special food that the chef could prepare for him? In this way, Welch’s rage began to subside. He allowed an auditor to visit him each day. After two weeks, the door to Welch’s cabin was unlocked and he emerged, serene and apparently cured.
The Introspection Rundown was issued shortly thereafter.